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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234937">This Place I call Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speckleflower/pseuds/Speckleflower'>Speckleflower</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:06:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speckleflower/pseuds/Speckleflower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>Aaahh yet another English assignment, that'll be all.<br/>Just wanted to post something :)</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This Place I call Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Aaahh yet another English assignment, that'll be all.<br/>Just wanted to post something :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When I am out walking, I tend to notice what other people do. Some walk stiffly, looking down on others in their feigned superiority. Heels clicking on the ground. I swagger in a freestyle motion, hands in my denim pockets, worn out high tops making dull thuds on the pavements. Tarnished white shocked grey by the sweep of noise.</p><p>Some keep their eyes down. Furtively trying to avoid eye contact.</p><p>I hold my head high, eyes on my surroundings.</p><p>They never cease to amaze me.</p><p>Lining the streets, towering buildings brush the sky like malachite stems clamouring for sunlight, the smallest structures mere shoots working their way upwards to someday obtain a place in this new world. A new world that requires adaptation. Keep up or you’ll be lost, far behind, without hope of catching up. You must walk quickly, or you’ll be drowned in the sea of citizens, each with a multitude of places to be. Wander aimlessly and you’ll be swallowed by the ever rising tide.</p><p>Streets have carved their way through the bedrock of brick and stone, etching out a pattern of canyons, snaking their way across grid lines, creating a purpose. This is my habitat, and I am a wildcat on the prowl.</p><p>But then I remember that I’m not a child any more. Life is not a silly game.</p><p>Although, who cares about that?</p><p>In a city of 8.9 million, you can be whoever you want. If you do something out of the ordinary, or whatever is deemed abnormal in the warped definition formed by the city’s ever- evolving inhabitants, people may notice you for a minute- but then you’ll be gone, another blank face in the crowd, while the world continues to turn.</p><p>I revel in this ordered chaos.</p><p>Nothing is in its place, because nothing has one. But somehow, everything is where it should be.</p><p>The star that maintains our world casts out its last effort in a brilliant golden ray that quickly fades. The pale peachy glow that is left is waning, dividing into an ombre of shades, slowly darkening, all colours melting into one, and the sun is smothered by the blanket that is the night.</p><p>Sunset is a constant. Nature is the only constant. Down here, in the thick of things, nothing is for granted.</p><p>And as the natural light disappears, the man made lights flicker on in sync. Traffic lights. Street lamps. Headlights. They have harnessed the gentle light of the soft day, condensed it, processed it, and now it streams out in dazzling LED flares, puncturing the darkness with a new signature.</p><p>Lanterns gleam above, their papery thinness intricately chiselled into an interlaced pattern of shapes. Mocking the stars with their washed out brightness.</p><p>Mocking?</p><p>No. Reflecting.</p><p>Mellowing stark white into tender yellow. Our own heaven on earth. All these lights soft and warm, orange and beautiful as the leaves in various stages and shades of yellow, falling to the ground from trees to rest in a thick carpet that is the sign of Autumn taking effect.</p><p>The stars glitter serenely above, constellations permanently engraving a story on the everlasting black canvas of the universe, a thrilling tale for me to follow in awe, losing my anchor the world when all I can do is consign myself to the hypnotising swirls.</p><p>But the moment is shattered when someone pushes past me and I lose my balance. It isn’t my desire to be acquainted with the tarmac, so I stumble, using the bowling pins that are the people around me to steady myself. Like gas filling a jar, there’s always someone, everywhere. They don’t care. In a place where you can’t even blink without the landscape changing vastly, you learn not to care when you’re pushed and shoved. You keep your head down.</p><p>Raindrops pitter patter, dancing as they rebound off the pavement, turning rainbow colours as they reflect amber light. Creating melodies as they hit metal, drumming steadily on umbrellas. An orchestra, punctuated by the horns of the cars, begging to be included in this magical song. My heart beats along, in tune with my soul, lifting in this delight. Everything plays its own part.</p><p>As the red man is replaced by a green one, I step in between the raging lines of vehicles; soldiers wating for an order in apprehension. In the eye of the storm, all I can hear is a soft murmur of drowned out voices. I walk through the honour guard of metal machines, spotlighted in the garish yellow beams. The revving of engines penetrates my ears, impatient to go. The only thing holding them back is one solitary red glow.</p><p>I wrinkle my nose as the smell of exhaust fumes wafts into my nostrils. Automatically, I curl my tongue in an effort to rid my mouth from the acrid odour. Breaths of heat emanate from the grills at the vehicles’ fronts, making me uncomfortably warm, sending a prickle down my spine.</p><p>As if I am in a trance, I find myself entering a building. In a daze I get into an elevator, jamming my finger onto the top button. The journey seems to take only a few seconds; with a ting, the door grinds open- I step out. Suddenly I’m on a balcony and I stare out, leaning as far forwards as I can on tiptoes, hands gripping the edge of the wall, inhaling the sweet crisp air. I imagine I am a bird, swooping around on feathered wings, unstoppably, uncontrollably free. I can almost taste it on my tongue, sift through the drifting air currents that I’m gliding on. I stretch my hands out. Almost there-</p><p>But my knee bumps painfully against the concrete wall, reminding me that I am grounded. My hand closes into a fist, and drops to my side.</p><p>Never mind. Here I am as close to the sky as I ever will be.</p><p>I ease myself forwards, resting my elbows on the wall, cupping my cheeks in my hands. I lift my face to the sky, letting raindrops drizzle onto it. The feeling is refreshing. I gaze out over the jumbled skyline with the cool breeze in my face, giving fly to wisps of hair, drinking in the sights from my vantage point.</p><p>So enchanting it is, this place I call home.</p>
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